


Protector

by milkandcookieshero



Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: Beau is not jealous ;), Established Relationship, F/F, Yasha is big and strong and if you say otherwise you are wrong, give!yasha!the!pet!she!deserves!, hc that fallen assimars get tiny fangs, no beta we die like mem, technically the violence is the regular style of cr but it's kinda bordering on mortal kombat style
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-18
Updated: 2018-09-18
Packaged: 2019-07-14 00:47:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,825
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16029530
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/milkandcookieshero/pseuds/milkandcookieshero
Summary: The wait has been burning under the monk’s skin like a nasty rash that won’t go away. Beau goes from pacing to lounging to meditating(unsuccessfully) and she is nearly going mad with nothing to do.So when Yasha suddenly peels away from the group, Beau is more than happy to follow.





	Protector

Shopping in the market is always so fucking _lame_.

Maybe it’s the rather lackluster way she’s been raised, but Beau’s never found pleasure in browsing through the seemingly endless rows of stalls. It’s always too damned crowded and people are so loud and annoying when they’re constantly shouting about prices and such.

Usually she stays behind with the cart while the others go shopping, but Jester wouldn’t stop ranting about a pastry vendor, so Beau had let herself be dragged away, if only to slow the rushed mess of words tumbling from the tiefling’s lips. And yeah, the baked goods weren’t as shitty as Beau thought they’d be, so the trip hadn’t been entirely pointless.

Then Caleb slips into a bookstore.

The wait has been burning under the monk’s skin like a nasty rash that won’t go away. Beau goes from pacing to lounging to meditating(unsuccessfully) and she is nearly going mad with nothing to do.

So when Yasha suddenly peels away from the group, Beau is more than happy to follow. The barbarian gives no sign of annoyance or exasperation, so Beau trails after her like a loyal puppy.

Well, she tries to anyway, because Yasha’s fucking booking it.

Her long, quick strides make it hard to keep up with, and Beau does lose her for a moment, but Yasha’s at least a foot taller than everyone else here, so it’s easy to find her again. 

The taller woman suddenly turns into the opening of a dark alleyway and slinks in, and Beau hesitates, because Yasha – seven foot, mountain of muscle and fury and mystery Yasha – is out of sight in the dark and Beau swears she can hears Nott’s shriek of, “Are you a Xhorhasian spy sent to murder us all,” ringing in her ears.

But she’s the same Yasha that’s fought tooth and nail by Beau’s side; slaying monsters and saving her ass more times then she can count. The Yasha that’s she’s grown intimate with. So the monk takes a deep, calming breath before peeking into the passage with careful eyes.

And immediately pulls back.

Three, maybe four ragged, and very obviously drunk men stand at the far end of the alley, circled around something small, but Beau is human, and she can’t see for shit in the shadows, so exact details are left foggy.

Crouching down, Beau slowly, and much more stealthily, peers back around. Low to the ground and obscured from the men’s view by a large pile of garbage is Yasha, watching the group with keen eyes.

Beau sighs and pulls back, slumping against the wall. Yasha is probably going to beat the shit out of the drunks and then take their coin. Beau won’t interfere; if the other woman is in need of gold, she won’t stop her. Beau’s done much worse.

She’s closing her eyes to meditate when something suddenly _yowls_ , loud and pained and heart wrenching.

Beau can _feel_ the air grow colder.

She whirls around the corner and charges forward, throwing stars in hand and veins thumping with adrenaline. The monk stops short however, as the first thing that her brain can process is _wings_.

Large, black, undead wings stretch and unfurl from Yasha’s shoulder blades, easily spanning the length of the alley. Now with a better view, Beau can make out three men, dirty faces and unkempt clothes marking them as less than fortunate. And trapped between them, bloodied and crumpled, is some kind of cat.

It’s tiny and shaking and mewling pathetically. Multiple lacerations mar its tiny form, dying tawny fur an ugly brown. Its left forepaw has been bent in a way that makes Beau’s blood run hot with anger. She takes a quiet step forward, seething and ready to pound these assholes into their graves, but Yasha strides closer.

Her footsteps are rumbling and heavy like thunder. Beau can taste the ionized air on her tongue; feel the static weigh heavily on her bones. Every movement is calm but powerful, loud but quiet – a storm personified.

The men somehow don’t notice her approach until she’s towering over the back of the one turned away from the entrance. The two facing them stiffen at the imposing sight of Yasha, eyes like charcoal and wings like a devil. The last man slowly turns to look at what has caught his compatriots’ attention. He only gets a second or two for a reaction before Yasha surges forward.

Beau watches with a mix of awe and horror as Yasha thrusts her hands into his stomach, fucking _impales_ him, and then tears a goddamn _hole_ in his _fucking torso_ with her _bare hands_.

Blood soaks Yasha’s arms and torso as she drops the limp corpse of the drunkard to the floor. His body hits the ground with a muted thump, crimson pooling around his form.

One of the other men lurches forward, throwing a sluggish punch aimed at Yasha’s face. She easily back-steps the attempted attack, letting him stumble to her side drunkenly. 

Without any hesitation, Yasha grabs the man’s head in her hand and slams him into the brick wall next to her, bones crunching and flesh scattering. A spider web of cracks splinter from the point of impact as the unfortunate soul’s brain paints the wall in shades of red, pink and purple. 

He slides lifeless to the floor, leaving a streak of gore on the wall. His face is fucking _pulverized_ but Beau can’t move, can’t speak, can’t do _anything_ but watch as the final guy rushes the barbarian.

His hit lands square on Yasha’s jaw, but Yasha’s pure muscle and her form doesn’t flinch at all. She snatches his wrist in her right hand and glares at him, and Beau takes great pleasure in seeing the blood drain from his face.

Fast as a lightning strike, Yasha places the other hand on his shoulder and pulls. His arm is fucking _ripped off_ his body with a wet squelching sound, and blood sprays wildly. Eyes glowing with an ethereal light, Yasha’s hand flashes out and clamps around his neck, squeezing tighter than the strongest manacles.

“Do me a favor,” she growls, low and earth-shaking, “and _die_.”

With frightening efficiency, she snaps his neck as if he’s nothing more than a twig. Considering how big Yasha is compared to him, it definitely seems that way. She lets go of him, and he collapses to the ground like a ragdoll, face frozen in terror.

Beau doesn’t know if she’s awestruck, terrified or turned on. Probably all three. As she edges closer to Yasha, the wings fold and vanish into the fur shawl covering the woman’s shoulders. Her hair lightens and the warmth of the autumn air returns. Yasha releases a heavy sigh before looking back at the scruffy creature still curled in a tight ball in front of her.

She takes a slow and careful step towards it, but the cat still puffs up and hisses warily. The woman pauses and tilts her head in contemplation. Beau makes it to Yasha’s side and whistles, playfully nudging her arm.

“Holy shit, that was – that was so fucking dope.” Beau shifts her weight from one foot to the other. “Where’d you learn to, uh, to do that? Fight, I mean.”

Yasha hums softly before crouching down. “That,” she begins slowly, “is a story for another day, I’m afraid.”

Beau’s about to ask something else, but Yasha croons gently in her weird angel language. The melody is soft and delicate, and the cat looks at her oddly.

Yasha shuffles forward little by little, still singing. It’s not until she’s about a foot or two away from the kitten that she stops. Carefully, she extends her hand towards it and waits for it to either run or come closer.

The cat hesitates, green eyes flicking between Beau, Yasha’s hand and the path behind them. Hesitantly, it limps forward and sniffs the large calloused palm of Yasha. There’s pause as it considers, eyes still roaming, before it seems to fall into the barbarian’s hand. 

Yasha delicately gathers it into her arms, and Beau is struck by how such a large and powerful fighter can be so gentle with something so small. The kitten can easily be held in just one of Yasha’s hands, so as she cradles it closer to her chest, it seems to shrink in size. 

There’s a soft white light emitting from Yasha’s hands, and the largest of wounds close up and the broken paw rights itself. It’s not a complete heal; the cat will probably need a quick trip to Jester, but it’s much healthier then when they first found it.

It burrows itself into the crook of Yasha’s neck as she scratches its cheek. Slowly, Yasha stands back up and turns around to look at Beau, a pleased smile playing at the corners of her lips. “I like this little one.”

Beau grins, the soft special one she finds herself using just for the barbarian. “How’s Frumpkin gonna feel now that you’ve got a new favorite cat?”

Yasha looks up as she considers her answer. “He is still very nice and warm, but he is Caleb’s cat. This one, however,” She shifts the cat slightly as it nestles further into her, “is mine.”

“So you’re keepin’ ‘em?”

“I don’t see why not. She is very soft.”

One of Beau’s brows rise. “She?”

“Yes,” Yasha replies, and then she’s walking towards the mouth of the alleyway. Beau hesitates, because Yasha’s covered in blood and gore and she gets the feeling that the crownsguard won’t accept ‘I was saving an alley cat’ as an excuse.

“Woah, Yash, hold up.” Beau grabs her by the elbow and pulls her further back. Yasha doesn’t say anything, but merely looks at Beau curiously.

“Is there an issue?”

“Well, if you walk out there looking like… that,” she says, gesturing to the mess of crimson that is Yasha, “you’re gonna get arrested pretty quickly.”

“Ah,” Yasha scans the length of the passage, “maybe there is another way out?”

Beau strolls forward, keen eyes looking for any sort of cellar or opening that they can both squeeze through. Reaching the end of the way, she peers into a narrow passage, searching for a swift exit. From what she can see, light and something that resembles a tree pokes through. There doesn’t seem to be any guards, but Beau doesn’t know for sure.

Beau waves Yasha over to her. “Hey, think you can manage this?”

Heterochromatic eyes flick from Beau to the back alley, measuring and pondering. “Probably. If not, I can make room.” Her arms go taut, as if to prove her point.

Beau grins before slipping into the opening, slowly shuffling along. She hears Yasha grunt as she squeezes through, arms held down to her side and cat carefully tucked into her shawl.

Just before they emerge, Beau pokes her head out and cautiously scans the area. She is immediately greeted with trees and foliage of all kind, and she realizes that somehow, they’ve made it to the outskirts of the small town. Emboldened by the realization, Beau steps out fully, keeping an eye out for any guards. None seem to be present, so she urges Yasha forward with a quick wave of her arm.

With slight difficulty, the barbarian manages to slide out of the narrow path, shawl and hair dusty from the old bricks. The kitten however, shielded by Yasha’s mane of hair, is untouched. Gently, Yasha scoops it up and settles it against her chest again. 

Beau leads Yasha into the forest, towards the cart and away from prying eyes. After about ten minutes of trodding through the woodlands, they eventually make it to the cart. The cat has fallen asleep curled against Yasha’s collarbone, halfway tucked into the shawl, courtesy of Yasha, who has a small smile gracing her lips.

Beau breaks through the treeline, a relieved grin playing at the corners of her mouth, when she is suddenly scooped into a massive bear hug. The air is thoroughly crushed from her lungs as a familiar voice squeals in her ears.

“Beau! I’m so happy to see you!” Jester tightens her hug, and Beau’s pretty sure some of her ribs have cracked. “Where have you been? Why’d you just run off and-“

Yasha emerges from the clearing as well, and Jester promptly drops Beau and makes a beeline for her, getting up and close to Yasha’s face, bouncing on her tip-toes.

“Ooooh! Yasha, what happened? Why are you covered in blood? That’s a _lot_ of blood. Is that a cat?” 

Yasha rears back and blinks, the chaotic barrage of questions bombarding her. “Oh, um, well,” She looks helplessly towards Beau, who is still wheezing a few feet away, hand braced on her knees.

“Jester,” Fjord gently pulls the excited tiefling a comfortable distance away from Yasha, “give ‘er some space.” His yellow eyes meet Yasha’s and she smiles gratefully.

“I, for one, think the red suits you, love. Really makes your eyes stand out.” A silky, comforting voice announces, and a familiar weight braces itself against Yasha’s side.

She looks down into Mollymauk’s red eyes and grimaces. “I don’t like being this dirty.” She admits quietly, and he chuckles.

“Of course, of course. I’ll have you cleaned up in a moment.” He walks away and towards the cart, likely in search of a rag.

Fjord clears his throat. “So, uh, it’s none of my business, but why d’ya have a cat with ya?”

Beau finally regains her ability to speak(and breathe) and answers for Yasha, who’s awkwardly cradling said cat.

“Oh, we found some dicks beatin’ on it, so Yasha fucking obliterated them and rescued it.” The half-orc’s eyebrows pinch in a mix of confusion and exasperation.

“D’ I want t’ know what happened t’ ‘em?”

Beau shrugs noncommittally. “Nothing that they didn’t deserve.”

Fjord grabs the bridge of his nose with his hand and sighs heavily. Molly returns, cloth in one hand and a canteen in the other. He approaches Yasha calmly; tail swishing behind him silently as he smiles up at her. Tugging her free hand closer, he pours water over it before scrubbing the crimson away with the rag, firm but not painfully so.

The cat stirs awake and makes a little chirping sound before snuggling closer into Yasha’s warmth. Molly grins as the barbarian gently nudges it into a safer spot, mindful of the water dripping off her fingers.

As the lavender tiefling takes her other hand, Caleb and Nott slowly make their way towards them, talking in hushed voices. Glancing up, the wizard’s eyes widen at the sight of Yasha and her new companion. His brows crinkle in a silent question, but Nott beats him to the punch.

“What the fuck is that?” Beau snorts a laugh at her abrasiveness as Yasha replies.

“Oh, this is a cat.”

Nott squints at her. “I _know_ it’s a cat, but what _kind_ of cat?”

Yasha blinks, then looks at her feet sheepishly.

“I have no idea.”

The goblin’s ears twitch as she turns to Caleb. “Could you identify it with magic or some shit like that? You’re very smart.”

The man’s eyes flick to the ground. “Um, _ja_ , maybe? It really depends on the kitty itself. If I have seen it then yes, but if not, there’s a chance I won’t know.”

He looks to the taller woman. “May I?” He asks softly, stepping closer to Yasha, but not close enough to where he can touch her.

The barbarian stills, eyes glancing from Caleb, to his hands, and then to Beau. Hesitantly, she nods, and he offers her a small, albeit awkward smile.

Yasha gently picks the cat up from its resting place and holds it out for Caleb, who slowly takes it into his own arms. It chirps again, this time in displeasure as its moved from its favorite perch unwillingly.

The wizard thoroughly scrutinizes the creature, eyes taking in its different colors of fur and faint stripes and spots. He peers into feral, intelligent eyes before gently propping open its mouth, much to its displeasure. Finally, he hands the cat back to Yasha.

“Well,” he starts, “that technically isn’t a cat.”

Yasha’s brow furrows as Beau looks at him oddly.

“Um, what?”

Caleb falters a moment under their intense gazes. “I mean, it _is_ a type of cat, I guess. It’s just, well, it’s actually a cub. A saber-toothed tiger cub, to be exact.”

Beau sputters as Jester and Nott openly gape at the tiny creature nestled against the crook of Yasha’s neck.

“Whoa, that’s like, you know, cool as _fuck_.”

Yasha holds out the cub in front of her face and examines it curiously. Its back legs and torso hang limply as it yawns, pink tongue curling up in front of sharp teeth. Yasha’s head tilts, and the tiger cub mimics the action.

Molly chuckles to himself, patting Yasha’s shoulder affectionately. “It’s a perfect match for you, dear.”

“Oh, it’s also a female.” Caleb chimes in, randomly.

“With that in mind,” Beau walks over to Yasha, eyes glowing, “what’re you gonna name her?”

The barbarian hums thoughtfully, placing the cub back on shoulder, where it settles with another yawn.

“Perhaps,” She begins, but then her words sound like wind chimes in a soft breeze, and Beau knows it’s her angel language because of the subtle way Caleb’s face lights up.

“Berin yu te?” Jester asks, terribly butchering the Celestial words Yasha had sung.

“Um,” Nott’s fingers dance around her flask as she takes a short swig, “can we get a translation?”

Yasha peers down at Nott, eyes cool and face gentle. “Well, I don’t think that Common has an exact word for it.” Her eyes flick to the cub as she clambers across Yasha’s shoulders and perches on her leather padding.

“I suppose,” she murmurs, “that the closest thing in Common is: ‘small, furry creature’.”

“Well, unless you want us to call her that, got something in Common we can call her instead?” Beau drawls, balancing lazily against her staff.

Yasha considers it for a moment, before her face lights up and she answers with, “Fluffy.”

Jester and Beau dissolve into a fit of giggles as Nott spits out a mouthful of alcohol. Fjord snorts, Molly chortles from beside Yasha, and even Caleb smiles. The barbarian looks between them, puzzled and flustered.

“Is,” she looks to Molly, “is something wrong with that?”

The purple tiefling wipes a false tear from his eye. “No, not at all, darling. It’s very fitting.”

“Oh, absolutely!” Jester crows, coming closer.

She gently but excitedly pats the cub’s head and soft blue light flows from her fingertips into the fur. The remaining wounds close up and Fluffy butts her head into Jester’s palm, rubbing her cheeks into the cleric’s fingers.

“Hello, Fluffy! You’re super soft and cute, you know that?”

Yasha smiles at Jester’s bubbly nature. Fluffy chirps again.

Fjord scratches his cheek, eyeing the road ahead of them. “Should we start headin’ out?”

“ _Ja_ , that’s a good idea.” Caleb replies, hands flitting to the book at his side. “We do not need anything else, correct?” The warlock nods.

Jester’s face splits into a wide smile. “I call the front!” 

She rushes towards the cart, grabbing Nott’s hand on the way and pulling her along. Caleb follows after them, though he’s not going as fast as Jester had been. Fjord spares one last glance at the small village behind him before turning to the cart as well. Molly pats Yasha’s shoulder one more time before he goes and swiftly catches up with Caleb, asking him about his newest books.

Yasha begins making her way to the cart; posture slightly askew so that Fluffy wouldn’t fall from her perch. Beau walks beside her, staff held over her shoulders as she glances up at the barbarian’s new companion.

“Guess we aren’t ironic anymore, huh?” She muses.

Yasha glances at her. “What do you mean?”

Beau fumbles for an answer. “I mean, cuz we’re the Might Nein. And now there’s nine of us. So, um, yeah. Nine.” She forces an awkward cough.

Yasha looks up to the sky. “I guess so.”

A smirk flits across the monk’s face. “So, who do we hafta kick out to make it funny again?”

Yasha pauses, stopping in her trek, and frowns at her. Beau stalls, immediately thinking of how she might’ve offended her and how she could apologize. She’s about to take it back when a smile so cocky suddenly tugs at Yasha’s lips, and Beau’s heart stutters.

“You look like you could use the break, Beauregard.”

Beau flushes at the use of her full name, and Yasha’s grin broadens. She turns fully to face the monk, eyes aglow as she looks down at the monk who stumbles around her words.

“You’re – you’re kidding, right? Please tell me you’re joking.”

Yasha walks away.

…

Two weeks pass by, and the cub has stayed.

Yasha has fallen in love with Fluffy, and Fluffy has fallen in love with Yasha.

One time, when Fluffy had been crying with hunger, Yasha not only gave her the jerky she’d been eating, but she’d also gone out and killed a full-grown stag just for her to eat. Only after the cub had eaten her fill had Yasha cut her own meal. 

In return, Fluffy has brought Yasha plenty of gifts herself. Her favorites to bring are rodents, especially rats, which always perk up the barbarian. She skins them before splitting it with Fluffy and then eats them raw. Beau is always either grossed out or impressed by the scene; small bones crunching under Yasha’s teeth as she tears into the meat.

(Fjord paled, turning away from the bloody scene as he clapped a hand over his mouth.

Beau approached him, smiling mischievously.

“Looking a little green around the gills, dude.”

The half-orc sighed. “Look, no matter how many times Jester says it; I’m not a merman.”

Beau recoiled.

“I – no, what the fuck?”)

Even now, on watch, Beau can only palm her mouth and watch with morbid fascination as Yasha strips the flesh from tiny bones, the cub right beside her with her own strip of fresh meat. 

Maybe it’s the constant spraying of blood around her lips, but Beau is pretty sure that she catches a glimpse of sharp teeth – not as fanged as a tieflings would be but still sharper than a human’s – in Yasha’s mouth. Before she can get a better view, Yasha tosses away the mangled carcass of the rat, wiping away stray crimson from her lips and chin with her other hand. 

After she is sure that Fluffy has finished, Yasha tosses away the flayed mess of skin and fur into the underbrush as well, wiping off her hands on her pants. Gently, she grabs Fluffy by the nape of her neck and lifts her onto her shoulder, and tucks the cub under her wild mane of multicolored hair.

It’s rather endearing how gentle and doting Yasha is for the cub. How she’s grown very fond of the little thing that’s fallen into her care. Yasha teaches her basic commands to make sure she doesn’t run off, and Fluffy has picked up on them quickly, which catches many people’s attention.

Over the past weeks, many have approached Yasha and asked to buy off the seemingly tamed tiger cub. Each time the barbarian has vigorously denied their requests with barely contained anger. One especially persistent man had garnered a broken nose, courtesy of Yasha.

But now, she is just gentle touches and quiet chuckles as Fluffy gets settled on Yasha’s broad shoulders. More often than not, the little cub brings out a softer side and even softer smile to Yasha. Smiles that Beau really wants to bring out herself.

But she’s not jealous.

She’s not jealous that Fluffy can elicit the rumbling throaty chuckles Yasha seldom makes. She’s not jealous that Fluffy can cause Yasha’s eyes to light up with child-like wonder. She’s not jealous that an overgrown house cat can be held in Yasha’s strong arms with biceps that rivaled the size of her head more than she can be.

She’s not.

She’s not jealous, and she’s definitely not scared out of her mind when a large hand materializes out of nowhere and clasps onto her shoulder. Beau’s hand immediately goes for her bo staff, ready to jump into a fight, but then she’s staring into familiar mismatched eyes.

Yasha’s frowning softly at her, and Beau can feel an unwanted flush rise in her cheeks. “Oh, uh, what’s up, Yash?”

“I was worried. You looked,” she gestures her hand awkwardly around her head, “gone.”

She comes closer, and Beau starts as she realizes how close the barbarian has gotten to her from her previous spot. Yasha sits on a dry patch of grass near the monk and settles down. She folds her legs under her and crosses her arms comfortably in front of herself, and Beau can’t help but noticed how the muscles in her arm shift with the movements. The heat in her face grows stifling.

“Me? It’s nothing. It’s – I’m good.” She reaches up and scratches the scruffy hair of her undercut as she casts her gaze downwards and away from stupidly big muscles.

“You’re a terrible liar, Beauregard.”

Looking back up at Yasha’s face, she can see the small, amused smile gracing her features, and the slight concern flickering in her eyes.

“I’m just – cold. Yeah, cold.” She nods to herself before wrapping her arms around her torso. She offers an unconvincing grin as she pretends to shiver. Yasha remains silent, and a single eyebrow quirks. From behind her, Fluffy chirps and settles more comfortably against the crook of Yasha’s neck, and Beau feels a twinge of jealousy rise up in her throat like bile.

“After all,” she murmurs, looking at the rocks by her feet, “’s not like I have a fur coat or a warm place to lay down. Unlike others.” Her eyes flash up to the cub before settling back to the ground.

It’s quiet for a moment, before the silence is broken by a soft chuckle. Whipping around, Beau bits her lip as Yasha’s gentle laugh rumbles from her chest. After she settles down, her eyes look down to Beau, clear amusement glowing in their depths.

“Beauregard, are you _jealous_?”

The monk sputters. “What? No! I’m not – I’m not fucking _jealous_ of Fluffy! It’s just, ugh, it just looks really nice and she already has fur and your arms are really warm, and I miss being with you-” She argues, only to garner more laughter from her companion.

Without warning, Yasha’s hands slip under her arms and hoist her up, before depositing her into her lap. Beau fumbles for a moment, briefly overwhelmed by the sensation of being in Yasha’s hold. She barely gets to see normally before thick arms snake around her torso, and Beau’s vision goes white-hot.

Yasha leans forward and nudges Beau’s shoulder with her nose. “Why didn’t you just say something?”

Her breath is hot and still has a faint coppery scent to it, but Beau leans against Yasha’s chest nonetheless.

“I, uh, didn’t want to bother you?” 

Yasha hums, fondly exasperated, and settles her chin in the slight curve of Beau’s collarbone. Her arms tighten around her waist and she tugs her closer. Beau relishes the feeling and relaxes in her hold, embracing the all-encompassing warmth of Yasha.

“Fluffy is good,” she rumbles, her voice shaking Beau, “but you are my favorite.”

Beau smiles cheekily. “Looks like Molly has some competition.” Yasha grunts and nudges Beau again.

“Don’t tease him.”

“Not even a little?”

“ _Beau_.”

The monk sighs, nudging Yasha back. “Okay, okay, I’ll play nice.” She turns and presses a kiss to Yasha’s temple. “Only for you.”

Yasha hums again, pleased, and returns the gesture, placing a soft, slow, and oh so gentle kiss to the underside of Beau’s jaw. Beau reaches up and cups Yasha’s cheeks in one hand, tracing the line of her cheekbone with the pad of her thumb.

The air grows warm around them as Yasha looks at Beau with half-lidded and hooded eyes. Beau leans in to capture another kiss, fingers now idly tracing the tattoo that trails from the top of Yasha’s bottom lip to the underside of her chin.

She pulls back breathlessly, eyes aglow. Yasha smiles softly, and goes to claim another kiss of her own, but there’s another chirp and suddenly Beau’s kissing Fluffy’s pink nose.

Sputtering, she pulls away, wiping at her mouth angrily as she sends an acrimonious look towards the cub, who has places herself between her and Yasha.

Her fingers are poised to flip Fluffy off and tell her to shoo, but Yasha laughs, her shaking, genuine laugh, and Beau’s everything stalls because _wow_ , that’s so fucking hot.

So maybe the cat could stay.


End file.
